Coming in Hot: Hot in Chicago Rookies

By Kate Meader

Best friends. A virgin firefighter hero. And a woman who knows exactly what she wants …

Hell, I love my job as a Chicago firefighter. The thrill of the save, the camaraderie of my brothers in fire, the appreciative looks from women everywhere I go. Shallow as it sounds, I can't help enjoying that last one.

Pity I have no idea what to do with all that attention.

While I might be an experienced firefighter, I'm a rookie in the bedroom. Last of a dying breed, a virgin with absolutely no game when it comes to women. I have good reasons for holding out this long, one of which is my best friend, Evie. So, I've crushed on her for years and don't stand a chance, but if anyone can help me figure out how to close the deal, it's Evie. She'd make the perfect wing girl in my quest to get it done.

Only I'm about to find out that my bestie has a few ideas on how to help me score … and none of them involve me with anyone else but her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Meader
• Release date: Jul 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9781954107281

Kate Meader

Kate Meader is a USA Today bestselling author who specializes in contemporary romance featuring men who can rock an apron, a fire hose, or a hockey stick. She enjoys writing books that pair alpha heroes and strong heroines who can match their men quip for quip. Originally from Ireland, she's now based in Chicago.

Book preview

Shirtless firefighter with piercing blue gaze ; background of fire and sparks; title of book with series titles beneath it.

Coming in Hot

Hot in Chicago Rookies

Kate Meader

Contents

Coming in Hot

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Acknowledgments

Hot to the Touch

Hot in Chicago Rookies

Also by Kate Meader

About the Author

This novella is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2019 by Kate Meader

Cover design: Lori Jackson Design

ISBN: 978-1-954107-28-1

Previously published as part of the Men in Uniform Anthology by Entangled Publishing.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Coming in Hot

Hot in Chicago Rookies

Hell, I love my job as a Chicago firefighter. The thrill of the save, the camaraderie of my brothers in fire, the appreciative looks from women everywhere I go. Shallow as it sounds, I can’t help enjoying that last one.

Pity I have no idea what to do with all that attention.

While I might be an experienced firefighter, I’m a rookie in the bedroom. Last of a dying breed, a virgin with absolutely no game when it comes to women. I have good reasons for holding out this long, one of which is my best friend, Evie. So, I’ve crushed on her for years and don’t stand a chance, but if anyone can help me figure out how to close the deal, it’s her. She’d make the perfect wing girl in my quest to get it done.

Only I’m about to find out that Evie has a few ideas on how to help me score … and none of them involve me with anyone but her.

One

Evie

R ight there. Yeah, that’s it.

I shifted my body to give him better access, imploring with the arch of my back and the spread of my thighs to fill me deep and take what belonged to him. Ever the sexy tease, he drew a lazy finger along my calf, the inside of my knee—so ticklish—tracing up to where I needed him most.

Then he stopped.

Don’t stop, I murmured. Not even his strong jaw with hints of copper in the scruff nor his broad shoulders capable of carrying my weight clued me in. Maybe it was better his identity remained a secret.

But why was he wearing yellow football shorts, the kit of the Brazilian national team? My mind searched, and from some deep recess, the answer came rocketing back. Because he’d just returned from Qatar where he’d been playing in the World Cup, silly! Duh, that made total sense.

I inhaled the pale skin at his neck—and exhaled in pleasure at his heady, masculine, sausage scent.

Hmm, sausage.

Mystery man with hints of sausage knew how to please a woman. His clever fingers parted by body expertly and stroked through all the wetness he found there. So much of it. All for him. My hips swiveled to egg him on.

Egg and sausage. God, I was starving. And I still had that letter to mail to Bruce Banner.

But I was also close. Mystery man just needed to rub a callused finger where I needed it, one ultimate stroke, and I’d blow. I clutched at his broad shoulders, the ones strong enough to carry me in a fireman’s lift. Because he was a—

Open your eyes, mystery man. Open your goddamn—Nooooo!

With a frustrated groan, my eyes snapped open and clashed with the concerned blue gaze of a woman in a gray cable-knit sweater. Color tagged her cheeks as she squinted at me from behind rectangular-rimmed reading glasses.

Are you okay, dear?

Ah, shit. I swallowed and shifted my overheated body into a straighter sitting position.

Yes, sister, I replied to the nun sitting beside me in American Airlines economy class. Just … just a dream. A crazy, inappropriate sex dream with—don’t even think his name. If I pretended it wasn’t him then I didn’t have to deal with it.

The flight attendant shoved a foil-covered package my way with a sneer that signaled she was not paid nearly enough to listen to passengers having dirty dreams on her watch. Egg and sausage wrap.

Right, egg and sausage. I blinked, becoming more aware of my surroundings. The cattle car on the Rome to Chicago flight. Of all the places to have an erotic dream about—no, no, no, I refused to go there.

But you went right there in that dream, Eveline Ventimiglia. You begged him to touch you, take you, fuck you.

Had I said any of that aloud? I slid a glance to my seating companion, Sr. Mary Magdalene. Only nuns with issues chose the name of Christianity’s most famous fallen woman. Perhaps the sister understood better than most the temptations of the flesh.

I hope I didn’t disturb you, sister. Just now.

Oh, no, dear. Blue eyes twinkling, she bit into her wrap, the final snack given to passengers about forty-five minutes before landing at O’Hare, and chewed before adding, Though it sounded like you were having a lovely time.

I almost choked on a piece of sausage. Just like you wanted to with—nope, nope, I can’t hear you!

I wasn’t. Having a lovely time, that is. I wasn’t sure why I felt a need to convince my sweet-faced companion of this. I would never see the woman again. Perhaps I was the one who needed convincing. It was a nightmare, really.

With what could be best described as a healthy dose of skepticism, Sr. Mary Magdalene studied me over the rims of her reading glasses.

Well, our dreams can be very revealing, don’t you think? Why, I once dreamed I was drowning in a bathtub filled with ketchup. Two years later I took my vows.

Not quite seeing the connection, unless ketchup was the blood of Christ?

So, never discount your dreams, dear. I’m sure you and this Tyler will work things out.

I inhaled sharply. Apparently I hadn’t just thought his name, I’d actually moaned it aloud. During a sex dream on a crowded flight in the company of a nun.

One would think that was the worst of it. Alas, no. The problem was not the what of the sex dream but the who of it.

Tyler, who was not the man I needed to work things out with, because he was not my ex-fiancé.

Tyler, who was a firefighter in my father’s firehouse, Engine 6 on Chicago’s north side.

Tyler, who I should most definitely not be having erotic dreams about, given that he was completely off-limits and my best friend.

Tyler.

Shit.

Two

Tyler

The steamy hot firehouse shower felt pretty damn good after a dive in Lake Michigan in negative freeze-your-ball-sac February. Felt even better after the awesome result of pulling a kid to safety. An hour later and I was still pumped up on joy juice.

Fuck, I love my job. The thrill of the save, the camaraderie of my